


we know not whither thou goest

by thatgothlibrarian



Category: The Witch (2016)
Genre: Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Christianity, Dancing, Early Modern Era, Enochian language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Foot Fetish, Infant Death, Isolation, Loss of Virginity, Psychological Horror, Religion, Religious Horror, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Type: Psychological Horror, Type: Religious Horror, Witchcraft, an obligatory hozier reference, and more!, early modern english, some choice sexy purple prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatgothlibrarian/pseuds/thatgothlibrarian
Summary: "Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?" - John 14:5Thomasin, thou seest me not, and thou shall not see me until it is time, when thou shall dance with me and give thyself fully to me, as all others have done before thee, and all shall do after thee.“Aye.”‘Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.’ Thou hast signed. Dost thou believe?“Aye.”Then let us join the others, with whom thou shall dance tonight. My sabbath awaits.~~~Prompt: Thomasin has found herself in a very strange, new place. How far is she willing to go to fit in? Had she ever suspected there was more to Black Phillip than she was led to believe?Five times Thomasin meets Black Phillip, and one time she does not.
Relationships: Black Philip/Thomasin (The Witch)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41
Collections: Multifandom Horror Exchange (2020)





	1. prologue: let us also go, that we may die with him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [listlessness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlessness/gifts).



> Hello! This was such a fun prompt to fill. This is my first time participating in a fic exchange, and this is also my first fic outside of my regular fandom, so it was an amazing exercise. I like to write in vignettes, so each chapter is its own little scene. I hope you enjoy! Also gave me an excuse to rewatch The VVitch and read the screenplay, which I worked off here: https://www.scriptslug.com/assets/uploads/scripts/the-witch-2016.pdf
> 
> The main Biblical aspects I worked from were the story of Doubting Thomas, since Thomasin is the feminine version of the name Thomas. Black Phillip calls her "Thomas" in Aramaic in the prologue I have written, and the scripture he quotes throughout is in relation to that story. I also reference the Great Red Dragon from the book of Revelations (as well as the William Blake painting, of course).
> 
> I am also working on the theory that the corn has ergot, a hallucinogenic fungus, but also that all the supernatural and paranormal happenings are real. It's a fun liminal space to be in.
> 
> A note on language: I try to write true post-Shakespearean Early Modern English as much as possible while not being alienating to modern readers. If you've read the King James version of the Bible, then it should be familiar. As I mention at the beginning of chapter 2, I will use both "thou" and "you" forms of address.
> 
> A note on Thomasin's age and sexual content: we are not given her age in the film, so I assume she is somewhere between 15 and 18. During this time period (the 1630s), standards of age and consent were different than ours, but I have chosen to make all sexual content involving Thomasin happen once she is of age according to our modern standards. Chapters 1 and 2 take place within the same year as the ending of the film, but each chapter after is at least one year later, in succession, so that by the time we reach the end, Thomasin is at least 18, if not older.
> 
> Bonus fun fact: I live about 10 miles away from where the director is from, so it's a very neat prompt for me to take on since Black Phillip basically lives in my backyard.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then said Thomas, which is called Didymus, unto his fellow disciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him." - John 11:16
> 
> Thomasin signs Black Phillip's book.

_Dost thou see a book before thee?_

“Aye,” Thomasin answered. Between them on the ground sat a book bound in red leather, surely centuries old. It had not been there a heartbeat before, but its presence did not shock her. Her mind accepted it, as though it had always been there. A few pages flipped as Black Phillip began to step around it in the darkness. Thomasin saw hooves turn to boot-clad feet. With each step she heard the jangle of spurs, getting closer and moving around her.

_Remove thy shift,_ he rasped out, at her side now.

Thomasin hesitated. She knew that this would be a part of it. She pulled the string of the garment, loosening it enough to shrug it off, feeling awkward and child-like. Thomasin closed her eyes, steeling herself a moment before going any further. She did this willingly. _I think I am ready,_ she thought, and opened her eyes, giving in. The shift fell off her body, and she heard the footsteps stop and settle close behind her. “I cannot write my name,” she admitted.

A gloved hand grabbed her shoulder, and another reached over in front of her bared chest, stirring against her hair.

_I will guide thy hand._

Black Phillip’s fingers wrapped hers around a black quill. The feather was dark and shiny, and Thomasin could feel the thick slickness of the ink on her skin. _Thy name is Thomasin,_ he began. _T - H - O - M - A - S - I - N._ The letters formed on the page, the quill tip scratching the coarse parchment. In the flickering candlelight, Thomasin saw that the ink was dark red, not black. Her stomach sank when she realized what that meant, and whose it was.

_Wast thou named after Doubting Thomas?_ _תְּאוֹמָא?_ he asked. _Thou may drop the quill._

Thomasin set the quill down beside the book, and after her next blink it was gone, as well as the book. “I was named after my grandfather,” she stammered. His hand slid back up her arm to grasp her other shoulder. Although his face was nestled next to her own, she felt no breath. “Aye.”

_Thomasin, thou seest me not, and thou shall not see me until it is time, when thou shall dance with me and give thyself fully to me, as all others have done before thee, and all shall do after thee._

“Aye.”

_‘Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.’ Thou hast signed. Dost thou believe?_

“Aye.”

_Then let us join the others, with whom thou shall dance tonight. My sabbath awaits._


	2. i go to prepare a place for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." - John 14:2
> 
> The night after the witches' sabbath, Thomasin journeys back to the farm in order to grab food and supplies for herself and other coven members.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this chapter, I will be using both "thou" and "you" forms of address. Traditionally, "thou" forms are informal, or show closeness/intimacy, while "you" forms are formal. However, once we reach Shakespeare's time and onward, this distinction loses much of its meaning, as even he mixed the forms. Because this story is set in the 1630s, I will be even looser with how they are used. Black Phillip will always use "thou," however. Thomasin and her family came to New England from England, so it isn't as if they came before this shift started happening.
> 
> The language Thomasin speaks in her incantation is Enochian, and the text is from the First Enochian Key. It means, "I reign over you, says the God of Justice, in power exalted above the firmaments of wrath: in whose hands the Sun is as a sword and the Moon as a through thrusting fire: which measures your garments in the midst of my vestures, and trussed you together as the palms of my hands: whose seats I garnished with the fire of gathering, and beautified your garments with admiration. To whom I made a law to govern the holy ones and delivered you a rod with the ark of knowledge. Moreover you lifted up your voices and swore obedience and faith to him that lives and triumphs, whose beginning is not, nor end can not be, which shines as a flame in the midst of your palace, and reigns amongst you as the balance of righteousness and truth. Move, therefore, and show yourselves: open the Mysteries of your Creation: Be friendly unto me: for I am the servant of the same your God, the true worshipper of the Highest."
> 
> I also want to preface this by saying that I am a trans person, so any mentions of menstruation in relation to magic (or as signs of womanhood) are not meant to be read as transmisogynist essentialism. Trans women are women. Trans men are men. Nonbinary people and all those who do not conform to the Western binary view of gender are the genders they say they are. Trans people have existed as long as people have existed.

“Sister,” Isabel said, “your family grew corn. Is there any crop left?”

Thomasin, Isabel, and other women from the coven walked through the wood so that Thomasin might become familiar with them. She did not yet have her own cave or hovel, so they sought one out together.

“Aye,” said Thomasin, “though my mother said our corn was trash. We could not trade it.”

Anne hummed in acknowledgment. “What is trash to most is not to us, for nothing the earth provides is for naught.”

“Even the rot of the tree bark, the shriveled stalk of wheat,” Margaret added. “It is not for us to conquer and decide what is good and what is ill.”

Joan concluded, “Everything is a gift.”

The soft cotton of Thomasin’s new shift sighed against her skin as she walked and listened. A gift, that she had awoken in. She hadn’t felt cloth so fine since before they came from England. The events of last night seemed a dream to her still, but her lungs were still thick with bonfire smoke, her throat still sore from ecstatic ululation, physical remnants of proof.

“After we find thine own place, you will go thither to your farm and fetch whatever corn is left,” Isabel said. “You will do this each day until none remains. Understood?”

Thomasin nodded. “Yes.”

The rest of the walk was in silence. The women all seemed to know their way amongst the trees, but Thomasin could not tell one bunch of trees from another. She was now further in than she had ever gone with her father or brother, and last night Black Phillip had guided her through the dark. After a time that could have been either a few more minutes or a few hours, they came upon a natural lean-to, where a shard of granite rested against a clump of rock.

“You will stay here, and you will craft here. You will only join the others on the sabbaths, and when spells require a group of us,” Isabel said.

“How will I know when that is?”

“You will know.”

Margaret twirled in the space under the rock. “Over time, you will make thyself a hut. And Lucifer shall keep thee warm and sheltered.”

“Now return to thy farm to fetch corn,” Isabel commanded. “We need it for food and for our craft.”

Thomasin felt as though the witches spoke a different language. “But how will I know the way there? And the way back?”

“You will know. Lucifer shall guide thy feet.”

* * *

Thomasin walked through the wood, alone. The sun’s position in the sky suggested it was mid-afternoon. She had not eaten, yet she felt no hunger. She had no shoes, yet her feet were not pained. She did not know where she was going, yet her steps continued. The forest was quiet. The air was still. Eventually, the trees started to thin. Somehow she had made it to the edge.

Across the barren field stood her house. A sudden breeze stirred the tops of the corn stalks, birdsong filling her ears again. She walked over the grass, the house never getting closer until, inexplicably, she was standing at the door.

There were no indications that anything had happened yesterday. Her mother wasn’t lying dead on the ground. There wasn’t even blood-soaked dirt. The chopped firewood was stacked perfectly, just as her father intended. Nowhere had it fallen to disguise his gored corpse. The only thing that was different was the goat shed: it was completely gone. Thomasin was also now holding a woven basket that she hadn’t been.

Thomasin walked over to the corn stalks and began pulling off ears and dropping them into the basket. Almost every ear had black kernels peeking through the husks, the stringy silks frizzy and fragile. The few times her mother had tried boiling the corn for food, the taste was acrid, and the texture was gritty like sand. Thomasin could not fathom what the witches would do with the corn, but she grabbed as many as she could anyway and even plucked a few cobs from the ground for good measure.

Curious, she decided to go into the house. Nothing was inside, not even furniture. She went up to the loft, and an apple sat on the floor, a bite taken out and dried blood caking the shiny peel.

None of Thomasin’s clothes or embroidery supplies were still in the house, no dishes or cutlery, nothing of any use at all, so she walked out the door to begin her journey into the wood. She looked up at the sky to see the position of the sun, and it was in the same place it had been earlier, as if no time had passed. Black Phillip, in the form of her family’s he-goat, rested between her and the way back. His body heaved as he breathed, his eyes blank and glassy.

* * *

Thomasin’s feet once more led her safely through the forest, though she still knew not the way. When she arrived back to her new domicile, the sparse rock lean-to now had a door and proper walls. Inside was a small cot for a bed.

_Leave the corn outside in the shape of a pentangle,_ Black Phillip’s voice bade Thomasin in her mind. So, she did.

Turning back to her door, she saw a book on the step, similar to the one she had signed. The pages were blank, save for the first, where already a pentangle was sketched in bright red. The writing was in a language she could not read, but somehow she understood its meaning: her own corn would grow here, even though the soil was wrong and the sunlight did not reach it. She went inside and sat at the small writing desk, already prepared with a quill and ink.

_Write thy first spell. Allow my power to flow through thee. Take me into thee._

Thomasin did not know her letters, but the symbols and lines she created made sense to her nonetheless.

_Ol sonf vorsg, goho Iad balt, lonsh calz vonpho, sobra z-ol ror i ta nazpsad, graa ta malprg ds hol-q qaa nothoa zimz,_

_od commah ta nobloh zien, soba thil gnonp prge aldi ds vrbs oboleh grsam, casarm ohorela caba pir, ds zonrensg cab erm Iadnah;_

_pilah farzm zvrza adna gono Iadpil Ds hom toh, baltoh ipam, vl ipamis, ds loholo vep zomdv poamal, od bogpa aai ta piamo el od vooan._

All the hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck stood erect. The cradle of her hips ached, and she felt the monthly blood of her womanhood begin to flow against her inner thighs. Without thinking, she had started chanting in the same tongue as was used at the sabbath.

_Zacare, ca, od zamran, odo cicle Qaa!_

A beam of moonlight shone through a hole in the roof. She stood up, still chanting, and shucked off her shift.

_Zorge, lap zirdo noco Mad, hoath Iaida._

Thomasin danced as she chanted, the beam caressing her skin and silvering her hair.

She supplicated, breath heaving, when a single candle caught flame of its own volition.


	3. and whither i go ye know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know." - John 14:4
> 
> Thomasin finds herself alone in the forest, when it begins to snow.

The seasons came and went, until a full year had passed and another summer fell upon the earth. Thomasin adjusted to her new life, enjoying her solitude and occasional camaraderie. When she felt the call, she joined the other witches, and they flew through the night sky. Her corn grew tall and healthy, its kernels sweet and tender; she took a few baskets to a nearby settlement for trade and bought fine cloth and embroidery tools with the coin. She began to adorn her clothes with moons and stars, with sunbeams, pleasing shapes and colours.  _ Pretty dresses, _ she would think, smiling.

She had also filled a third of the pages of her book with spells and incantations, recipes for potions and ointments. She would take in the silver light and Lucifer’s power, and out would come pouring the magic. Thomasin could craft glamours, falsify memories, lure wild beasts. She did not yet have the recipe for the flying ointment, but she knew it would come in time.

One day, Thomasin was walking through the woods to check her traps, her basket already carrying a few squirrels and rabbits. The witches had promised her she would come to know the wood, but instead she learned that it was more the opposite: she simply trusted her feet to guide her to where she needed to go, and she gave up the worry that comes with the desire to control. She hummed an easy melody to herself, content in this moment. Until, she felt untethered, her connection to whatever guided her snapped in twain.

A snowflake fell onto her cheek.

It being summer, Thomasin was not dressed for such impossible weather.  _ Was this a feature of the New World? _ No, it couldn’t be.

She turned in place, trying to find a familiar path or landmark. In a moment, the entire forest floor was covered in shimmering, soft white, hushing and muffling all noise. Her pulse began to race, and she forced a few deep breaths to calm herself. She tried to center herself, find that intuitive thread that had become second-nature to her, but it was gone. She fought the urge to cry for help; who would she call for?

Thomasin pushed on, shivering, hoping she would find her way somewhere familiar eventually, before she froze to death. Eventually she came to a clearing in the trees, a few rays of sun piercing through the clouds, casting everything in a fantastical glow. She walked to a tree which had a lower branch curved out flat enough to sit on. She put her basket on the ground and ran over the bark with her hands, seeking handholds.

The breath was knocked from her lungs. Something had pushed her against the trunk, the roughness digging into her cheek.

_ Art thou lost, Thomasin? _

She shuddered. She had not heard his voice since the night of her first spell, despite her regular worship. A large, hard body pressed into her back and pinned her, his gloved hands gripping her hips. “Aye,” she swallowed. “I was fine, but then the snow came, and I—”

Black Phillip chuckled soft into the nape of her neck.  _ What snow? _

When Thomasin moved her eyes as much as she could, she saw the verdant foliage all around her.

“I—” she stammered, “maybe the summer sun made me sick. I was collecting animals for stewing and roasting.”

_ What summer sun? _ he asked, crowding against her more and stepping a foot betwixt her legs. It was now a moonless night. Thomasin squirmed in his grasp, and she felt a low growl vibrate in his chest.  _ Dost thou knowest not how dangerous the wood is when one is by oneself? _

“I am by myself every day,” she spit back, “and know how to take care of myself.”

_ Aye, _ he replied,  _ but thou hast grown perhaps too trusting. _

Thomasin was puzzled. “Of what? Of whom?”

_ Of the wood. Of thy sisters. _ He dragged the palm of his left hand up the inside of her thigh until it came to rest just below her breast.  _ Of thyself, _ Black Phillip said, the hand now on her throat, though not constricting.

Around them, rain began to fall.

_ I am all thou hast. I am all thou needst. _ The pressure disappeared from her back, and she was no longer crowded. Thomasin whipped around to find the clearing empty, the sun back in the sky, the grasses and leaves dry.

A dark, resonant voice sounded in her head.  _ Nothing else is. _


	4. and be not faithless, but believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing." - John 20:27
> 
> Thomasin learns a spell that threatens to break her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: infant death
> 
> This is a dark chapter. In response to the requester's prompt, I made the sexual encounter as consensual as possible. Thomasin does enjoy it and desire it, and the man does as well with no witchcraft put upon him. But it's not a happy moment. Requester, if this crosses your line, I apologize and would be more than happy to take it out and adjust as needed.

_Thomasin,_ Black Phillip’s voice woke her from her sleep, _there is to be a sabbath tonight. It is now thy turn to make the flying ointment._

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and rose, seeing that the first signs of the morning shone into her hut. Her book of spells rested open to a blank page on her writing desk. Only a few empty pages remained, coming on three years since she first began it. She padded over and sat. Grabbing a quill, she took a small knife and sharpened the tip and dipped it into a small inkpot. As soon as the ink soaked into the parchment, her hand wrote and drew of its own accord. She stared straight up through the small window in her roof, now protected with glass, and let the sunlight flood into her unfocused eyes.

Thomasin babbled, the unnatural language forming in her mouth like speaking in tongues, and yet she understood the meaning. She was to prepare together wolfe-bane, cinque foil, juices of smallage, and the meal of fine wheat, and—

“No,” she gasped in horror, her senses coming back to her.

_And the fat of children, pounded together until a salve is formed. Aye, Thomasin. Wherefore art thou surprised? Thou knowest!_

Her head whipped further back, her scrawling ineligible. “No, no no.” Thomasin moaned, impotent, denying what she had already known. From the first night she attended sabbath, her mind shut this knowledge out, protecting her from facing what she must eventually do. She shook with sobs.

 _Defyest thou me?_ he growled, and Thomasin’s chair flew back across the floor until she slammed into the opposite wall.

She took a few breaths before she answered. “Nay, Black Phillip,” she said, trying to hide the quiver in her speech, “I shall do thy bidding.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Where shall I find a child?”

_Anoint thyself with perfumes. Thy thighs, and thy throat. Scrub thy teeth with paste and smooth thy skin with cream. Cloak thyself with red and walk north-northwest. And thou shall knowest._

* * *

Thomasin walked for hours. The wood seemed to part for her, as a crowd for royalty, each step leading her further and further away from any semblance of her soul.

* * *

Footsteps brought her back to the present moment.

“Is someone there?” called a man. “I’m hunting and don’t want to shoot thee.”

Thomasin made herself known. “Aye,” she whimpered, “I’ve been wandering this wood all the morn, and I lost my way.”

The man was tall, not much older than her, with dark chestnut hair and freckled pale skin. His green eyes blinked at her in surprise. “Oh, miss,” he stammered, snapping his jaw shut where it had dropped, “you must be starvin’. My home is just a stone’s throw away. Let me feed thee, and you can rest as long as you need. I’ll help you find your way home tomorrow.”

She felt faint and staggered a few steps. “Thank you, sir…?”

“Kelly. Seek-Repentance Kelly,” the man said, grabbing her arms to hold her up. “Though my wife and kin call me Pen. And yours, miss?”

_Thy name is Arabella._

“Arabella, sir. I can never repay your kindness.” Thomasin leaned into Pen’s warmth, clutching the rough wool of his shirt. “What is your wife’s name?” she asked as they began to walk.

Pen paused and said nothing for a minute. Thomasin thought he might not have heard her. “Siobhan. Her name is— _was,”_ he corrected himself, “Siobhan. She died giving birth to our little Constance, just last month.”

Thomasin clenched her jaw and shut her eyes, her heart sinking into her stomach. “May the Lord keep her.” She did not ask after the child, for she knew it would be alive and perfectly healthy.

* * *

“Potato soup, just like me mother used t’ make,” Pen explained with a smile, setting a steaming bowl down on the table in front of Thomasin.

“Thank you, sir,” she said and moaned around her first spoonful. The soup was indeed delicious, but the ache in her belly told her why she was here and how she was to distract him.

He dropped his spoon into his bowl. “P-Pen,” he stammered. “Please, miss, call me Pen.”

“Alright,” Thomasin said. “Thank you, Pen. But thou must call me something other than ‘miss.’”

Pen flushed. “Arabella isn’t a name one hears often, miss. But I knew an Andalusian girl, before I sailed over, who went by ‘Bella.’ May I call thee Bella?”

Thomasin smiled. “Aye, thou mayst.”

They finished eating in silence. Through their meal, Thomasin caught Pen staring at her, his gaze growing more and more heated. She forced a yawn and hid her mouth behind her hand, feigning embarrassment. “I must be more tired than I thought. Might I lie down?”

Pen stood up so quickly from his chair that it squeaked against the floor. “Of course, you can rest in my bed.” He took her arm and led her into his room. He pulled the covers back, allowing her to slip under them, and then he brought them up over her softly-heaving chest.

“Thou art a kind man, Pen,” Thomasin said, meaning it, regretting what she was about to do to him. “I do not deserve treatment as fine as this.”

Pen dropped a hand to her cheek. “Bella,” he said on a breath, “no king or queen deserves what you do.” He angled his head down with no hesitation and kissed Thomasin on the mouth.

No man had ever kissed her before. She choked on a gasp at the feeling, the devastating gentleness, the softness, the tenderness. She brought a hand up to card through his thick hair, savouring how soft it was against her skin. He brought himself onto the bed and laid himself down over her under the sheets. Her thighs parted for him, by nature.

 _Remember thy purpose,_ Black Phillip said in her thoughts, stern. _Ruck up thy skirt and take his cock in hand. Make him spill on thy dress, for thou shall need his seed later. Go no further. No man shall enter thee until I do. Thou art mine._

Thomasin fumbled and struggled to open his breeches. She felt around until she could grab his prick, wrapping her slender fingers around its length, already hard as iron. They had not stopped kissing, and he moaned when she stroked him the first time, her hand moving slowly but firmly. He moaned _Bella,_ but he also moaned _Siobhan,_ craving the touch of his lover and pretending Thomasin were she. She wanted to weep, for the soft whimpers he made into her neck pierced her with their sweetness, and she enjoyed that she could wring those sounds from him.

He thrust into her next stroke, matching her rhythm and forcing it harder and faster until he stilled with a grunt, twitching his hips as he emptied onto Thomasin’s clothed lower stomach, small spurts coming after until he collapsed next to her, sated. Pen cupped one of her breasts over her bodice, so gentle, and stroked it, massaging, gazing into her eyes. He fell asleep, still holding her, within ten minutes.

* * *

The babe stopped crying long before Thomasin returned to her hut. A child can only cry out in hunger, thirst, and fear so much before it exhausts itself. It couldn’t even cry as she undressed it and laid it on the stone plinth, which had not been there before she left. It couldn’t even cry when she took its life, and never would again.

Thomasin prepared the child, and the rest of the spell, as if in a trance, the pounding of her pestle emptying her mind of everything, leaving her but a husk, as poisoned as her family’s corn.

* * *

The ground dropped under her, the violent tremors seizing her body ceasing. Her ululations soared into the night, discordant with the moaning shouts around her from the other witches. The bonfire crept into her very bones, igniting the soul she had extinguished earlier. She cried out in joy, in pain, not able to tell the difference anymore, as she rose higher and higher into the air towards the moon. Thomasin noticed, on the other side of the clearing, a young girl approached, naked, with a black he-goat.


	5. i will come again, and receive you unto myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." - John 14:3
> 
> Thomasin comes fully into her powers, finally the witch she was always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tim Curry in The Worst Witch voice] Somethin' spooky's goin' down now.
> 
> The chanted language in this is the Eleventh Enochian Key, which, funnily enough, is what the witches chant at the end of the film. It means, "The Mighty Seat groaned and they were 5 thunders which flew into the East: and the Eagle spoke and cried with a loud voice, Come away: and they gathered themselves together and became the house of death of whom it is measured and it is as they are, whose number is 31. Come away, for I prepare for you a place. Move therefore, and show yourselves: open the Mysteries of your Creation: be friendly unto me: for I am the servant of the same your God, the true worshipper of the Highest."
> 
> Thomasin on her own sings the Eighteenth Enochian Key, which means, "O you mighty Light and burning flame of comfort which opens the glory of God to the centre of the earth, in whom the Secrets of Truth 6332 have their abiding, which is called in thy kingdom Joy and not to be measured: be you a window of comfort unto me. Move and show yourselves: open the Mysteries of your Creation: be friendly unto me: for I am the servant of the same your God, the true worshipper of the Highest."

When the time came for the next sabbath, Thomasin volunteered to gather the child and craft the ointment herself.

She rode to the gathering on the back of Black Phillip, his cloven hooves _clip_ ping and _clop_ ping over stones. She gripped her broomstick, slicked with ointment, in her right hand as they approached. The other witches had already begun, all down on their hands and knees in supplication around the fire, arching and undulating their spines as they chanted.

_Oxiaial holdo, od zirom O coraxo ds zildar raasi, od vabzir camliax, od bahal: NIISO! Salman teloch, casarmman holq, od ti ta z-chis soba cormf iga. NIISA! Bagle abramg noncp._

Black Phillip walked them around the circle widdershins, then back again deosil. The women—some old hags, some younger maidens than Thomasin, some beautiful, some ugly, some with deformities and some spotless—flung their heads back each time they passed.

_Zacare, ca, od zamran, odo cicle QAA! Zorge lap zirdo noco Mad, hoath Iaida!_

The entire group, Thomasin included, started to fly at the same time, their shouts turning to low moans and _oooh_ s as they floated into the air. Black Phillip, still as a goat, danced below them, rising up on his hind legs and jumping, kicking behind himself, thrashing his head. Then he ran around the fire in one direction, and the witches flew opposite. The smoke and flames formed a whirlwind, shooting up the center of the mass.

Thomasin flew higher and higher. Her broomstick quivered underneath her. She was weightless, her chest rising up as if it led her, her arms and legs hanging loose at her sides. The moon shone onto her naked skin. She stopped hearing the sabbath below.

Until a hand grabbed her ankle and yanked her down with a cackle. She grabbed her broomstick with one hand, her other slipping on the ointment. More hands grabbed at her, pulling her down, pulling her left, pulling her right, in twain. The cackles and shrieks drowned out her own screaming. She saw her sisters turn monstrous, all, their horrible faces flashing in the firelight.

She swore that some of those faces had been those of Jonas, of Mercy, of Caleb.

Black Phillip bleated below.

Thomasin screamed, and the world went black.

* * *

Thomasin lay on the ground, body broken, with the twisted, charred corpses of the coven around her. She laughed, each cackle spitting blood.

* * *

Thomasin rode her broomstick high above the bonfire, completely alone, her song clear like a clarion call.

_Ils Micalo-z, olpirt ialpvrg bliors ds odo bvsdir Oiad ovoars caosgo, casarmg laiad eran brints cafafam, ds ivmd aqlo adohi QZMOZ, od maoffas. Bolp comobliort pambt._

_Zacare, ca, od zamran, odo cicle QAA! Zorge lap zirdo noco Mad, hoath Iaida!_

* * *

Thomasin sat astride Black Phillip through the forest towards the witches’ sabbath, the women already chanting in supplication.

_Zacare, ca, od zamran, odo cicle QAA! Zorge lap zirdo noco Mad, hoath Iaida!_

* * *

Thomasin danced with Black Phillip in the flames, neither burnt, his bleats mixing with her shouts and laughs.

* * *

Thomasin danced with Black Phillip in complete darkness, wrapped in his arms as he led them across the ground.

* * *

Thomasin sat with two other witches around a black cauldron, chanting.

_Zacare, ca, od zamran, odo cicle QAA! Zorge lap zirdo noco Mad, hoath Iaida!_

A cat wove between the three women, and a crow _caw_ ed and swooped down low.

* * *

Thomasin carved a pentangle into her floor and painted it with blood. No matter how many times she did this, the boards were pristine the next day.

* * *

Thomasin looked into her mirror. Her reflection smiled at her.

* * *

Thomasin walked through the forest alone, naked, in the inky blackness of a new moon. Wolves howled off to her side.

* * *

Thomasin closed her spellbook, all the pages finally full.


	6. thou hast seen me, thou hast believed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." - John 20:29
> 
> Thomasin finally sees Black Phillip and consummates her covenant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be smut! I can't help but put religious imagery into sex scenes, so writing this just made me go off.
> 
> Me: Am I gonna get canceled if I call it their "gentle sin" once? Is Hozier gonna sue me?  
> My friend: Will this fic really be its most feral self if you don't include a Hozier reference?  
> Me: You're right, you're so right.
> 
> The way I depict Black Phillip during sex is informed by Early Modern views of Satan and demons: they were cold, they had no genitals, etc. However, we know Black Phillip can transform himself. I almost titled this chapter The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with the Sun, as I write him phasing between human-form and Great Red Dragon form during intercourse.
> 
> I also try to use period-accurate terms for sex and genitals. Thank you, Oxford English Dictionary!
> 
> [Take Me To Church intensifies]

“Black Phillip, I conjure thee to come before me. I wish to consummate our covenant.” Thomasin stood alone, naked, in her hut, a pentangle carved into the dirt and wood of the floor. She only heard the rustling of the wind. It was a new moon, a black moon, no light coming in.

 _Thou callst me?_ His voice whispered in her ear, when she had almost given up.

She swallowed. “Aye. I have signed thy book. I have danced in thy sabbath. I have bewitched, seduced, and killed. I have let thy power flow into my hand for three years, and my grimoire is full.”

_Thou knowest what thou ask?_

“I ask thee to take me.”

Black Phillip was silent a moment too long; Thomasin thought he might have left. But then he said, _Take me into thee. Open thy body to mine,_ in a tone that went straight to her core.

“May I finally see thy face?”

 _Nay,_ he answered. _‘Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.’ But thou shall feel my touch,_ he whispered as he dragged a knuckle over her cheek, _and thou shall know me. I shall taste the ripeness of thy flesh._ He kissed the column of her neck, making her eyelids flutter shut. _I shall pierce the softness of thy nature. I shall suckle the life from thy teats. Thy body shall be as a temple, and what is profane to the Lord pleaseth me. I shall accept thy sacrifice, which thou givest willingly and completely._

_Kneel before me._

Thomasin dropped to her knees where she stood.

_Open thy mouth, and I shall fill thee with my light, for I am Lucifer, the Light-Bringer, and thou shall be clothed in the sun._

As soon as her lips parted, she felt cold, silken flesh rub over her lips and tongue. Thomasin had never heard of such an act, but she closed her mouth over the large intrusion—Black Phillip’s cock, she suddenly knew—and began to lick and suck the spongy head. It was so girthy that she almost could not open her mouth wide enough. She heard him moan above her, a low, deep rumble that went down to her very core. She slid the length back and forth across her tongue, swallowing when it prodded the back of her throat.

Thomasin could not breath, but she found that she did not need to. The same ache she had felt when she created her first spell, and when she had bewitched the young widower, inflamed her entire body. She squirmed, attempting to relieve the ache, and felt the wetness of her quim when she squeezed her thighs together.

Then one of Black Phillip’s hands grabbed a handful of her hair at the back of her head and thrust himself further and rougher, increasing his pace. For the first time in her life, Thomasin moaned in pleasure. One of her hands came up to her breast and squeezed an erect nipple, sending a shock through her entire body.

 _I shall spill my seed in thy mouth,_ Black Phillip purred, _marking thee mine, for any action which wastes the precious gift of life is a sin of Sodom, from the coupling of two men or women, to the kissing of thy dripping quaint._ He punctuated the words with thrusts and he emptied himself with a low groan, cock twitching and pulsing on Thomasin’s tongue.

Nothing had ever tasted as sweet, and a comfortable warmth washed down her throat and into her belly.

Black Phillip pulled himself out, and Thomasin kissed the crown before it was taken away. Then lips were on hers, coaxing her to share what spend lingered in her wet mouth.

 _Lie on thy back,_ he whispered against her, a hand reaching down to cup her mound, _and offer up thy secret._ She gasped when, for the first time, a finger worked its way through her folds, the slickness audible in the quiet. 

Thomasin did as she was bade, and now her cot was under her though she had been kneeling in a different part of the room. For a moment, she felt alone, Black Phillip no longer in her presence. Then she felt the softness of his lips on the insides of her right ankle. He grabbed her foot and lifted, anointing every inch of it with kisses. He took each toe into his mouth and suckled, tickling the sensitive skin with gentle nips of his teeth. He repeated the ministrations on her other foot and slowly moved up her legs. She was surprised at how it made her feel: worshipped.

 _“Oh, God,”_ Thomasin keened when Black Phillip licked from the pucker of her arse to the small nub at the top of her mound. The tongue felt impossibly long, and although it was cold, it left fire in its wake as it snaked gently through her lips.

 _Thou hast no God but me,_ Black Phillip growled as he closed his mouth around the nub and began to lap and suckle, taking his time. Thomasin’s hips rolled lazily up against the tongue, crying out when it moved down to dip into her cunt. Never had anything entered her before. Her mother told her it would be painful the first time, that she would bleed, that it was punishment for Eve’s transgression. After, she knew her husband would take pleasure in her to make children and that he should satisfy her thus, but she had never known it would be like this. Thomasin could not control her moans. She had never felt anything as good as this in her life.

Black Phillip moved back to lick her clitoris and pushed a finger into where his tongue had been, thrusting slowly in and out. He rubbed inside her, stroking the delicate lining of her womanhood like a tiny prick, centering in on one spot with precision. Arcane babble fell from Thomasin’s lips when he added another finger and massaged the spot, stars catching fire in the darkness as her pleasure grew and grew. His free hand reached up to pinch one of her nipples, rolling it between spit-wetted fingers.

 _Come for me,_ Black Phillip commanded in her head. _Give me thy sin._

The pressure in her belly became too much, as if she needed to relieve herself. Every nerve in her body exploded at once, every muscle tensing and pushing down, her cunt clenching and gushing around his thrusting fingers. Her entire vision went white, her ears ringing, her breathing ceased. No thoughts crossed her mind except that only death could cause such ecstasy, and surely she must be dying.

But life was given her again when Black Phillip sheathed his cock inside her, her entire being reformed as each inch slowly pushed in.

 _Now we are one, Thomasin,_ he said, and wrapped his arms around her. _My power shall never leave thee, and thou art mine until the end of time._

Thomasin kissed him, surrendering her body and mind as Lucifer’s vessel. His kisses tasted like blood and the smell of sulfur appeared underneath the musk of their rutting. She drifted, then, lost in the pleasure of their joining, this profane thing, but how could anything so sacred be called thus? She met each of his loving thrusts with her own, her body and his moving together in perfect celestial harmony. The length inside her pulsed and grew larger, and Thomasin panicked only a second before she felt her body stretch to accommodate him even more, like God sculpting Adam from the very clay of the earth. She reached a hand down and felt the soft bulge in her stomach from his cock pushing against her womb, rising and falling with each thrust. No prayer or scripture purified her like this gentle sin.

She didn’t know how long he took her. Her moans and adoration hitched when Black Phillip wound his arms under each of her legs, widening her hips and tilting them back so that he hit that spot again. She was dizzy, the kisses pressed against her neck heady and consuming. He must have bewitched her, she thought, when she felt another pair of lips close over a breast, when a hand that was one too many, and then another, then another and more, fisted into her hair, rubbed down where their bodies grinded together, teased at her other hole, pressed into her mouth. Thomasin clawed her hands into his back, and the muscles shifted, stretching and changing, while the soft skin transformed to hard scale and back. He went from grinding and rocking his hips to pounding them into her, slowly increasing his tempo, each time hitting the nerves that caused her to sob out in pleasure.

 _“Yes,”_ Thomasin cried, _“yes, yes, yes….”_ Her ecstasy overtook her, her words trailing off, and she shuddered around his cock in pure, simple bliss. In the fog of sweet nothingness, she heard a roar, a hiss, a moan more beautiful than any music to ever grace her ear.

_Take me, as Lilith did, and our covenant shall be sealed._

The world upended, and when it settled, she was straddling his hips, resting against him chest to chest. He had never pulled out of her.

_Sit up. Expose thyself to me, and revel in the pride of our eternal union._

Thomasin pushed herself up until she was positioned on him like as on a horse. He was deep in her as he could be, and each shift of her hips massaged him against her walls. She clenched and pushed in time, making him buck and whine underneath her. He dug his nails into the meat of her thighs. There was a twitch; she yelped in pain when one pierced her skin, feeling like a claw, but when she reached down, she only felt a hand. Black Phillip grabbed it and moved it to her nest of hair, and she knew to rub her fingers over the nub there like he had done.

Faster, faster. She bounced and thrashed on his prick and supported herself on his knees when he planted his feet to better help thrust up.

_Yes, Thomasin. Finish it._

They breathed together in a rough rhythm, heaving, exclaiming and exalting. She screwed her eyes shut and opened them with a scream, every candle in the room bursting into flame as she lit up and came a final time.

But under her was nothing.

The lights all went out, and with a shout, Lucifer grabbed her hips and slammed his cock into her, releasing his seed.

The flames ignited again, and underneath her, Thomasin saw herself. She screamed, and the room fell back into darkness. She fell onto the bed like falling from grace. She could see nothing, the blackness total.

In her head, she heard her mother, calling her a slut, and a witch, screeching in pain and death.

Her body went ice cold, and then as white-hot as fire. She heard herself laughing, and she heard the crackling kiss of flames. Her sexual ecstasy rushed through her body again, transforming into a reckless freedom and joy.

In her head, Thomasin heard a triumphant roar.


End file.
